


From Hell

by LadyOneiroi



Category: The Outsiders - S. E. Hinton
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-16
Updated: 2014-01-17
Packaged: 2018-01-04 20:59:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,844
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1085639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyOneiroi/pseuds/LadyOneiroi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Six boys go into the woods, but how many will make it out? What starts as a therapeutic trip to help Pony shake off recent losses instead becomes a fight for survival as something otherworldly comes crawling out of the woods.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Into The Woods

It occurs to him that his brother has not moved since they left the city limits. Pony sits with his head against the glass, hair hanging in his face to obscure his features. Darry looks over at the boy, biting the inside of his cheek as he thinks of ways to draw him out.

What is there to say?

He’s still mourning two people he thought would never leave him. It had been a rough year, leading up to this fall trip. With nothing to say, Darry reaches out and plays with some of Pony’s hair. The boy says nothing. Darry plays along with that silence, turning his thoughts inward.

The Curtis brothers hadn’t been to the cabin since before everything happened. Darry knew it was going to be awkward, being in such familiar territory without their father. Dad was always crazy about those few days they could spend out in the wilderness, fishing and hunting to his son’s content. When he was a kid, Darry was always so sure that his dad was some sort of forest wizard or something equally mystical, with the way the man could work so well in the woods.

His father is gone. The thought cuts all of Darry’s aching wounds open again.

He tells himself he will not cry.

"I think we go left." Pony finally speaks, and it jars Darry out of his melancholy. The boy’s voice is rusty from misuse, but Darry hears it all the same. He can’t help but smile. The slight ginger always has to remind whoever’s driving that they have to turn left to get to the cabin. By that point on a normal trip, Dad would be leading the boys in a sing-along with the radio, only to start cursing in an uncharacteristic manner when Pony had to correct his directions. "Every damn time!" he’d sigh, and his sons would laugh. It was the same way every year, for as long as Darry could remember. He stops the truck, then started in reverse.

He looks at Pony as he got back to the crossroad, just looking at him as he corrects their course. Maybe a little normalcy would help more than hurt. Maybe being away from the city would help Pony set things right for himself. Routine might make the kid okay.

Pony stares right back at Darry, shifting uncomfortably in his seat, then looks back at the road.

He screams.

Darry almost screams with him, slamming on the brakes. “What’s wrong?!” he shouted, reaching out and grabbing his brother by the shoulders. The boy was shaking all over, eyes wide. He points to the front window.

Darry’s eyes follow Pony’s finger.

He sucks in a deep breath.

Something large and black had been gored on the road in front of them. The pair sit in nervous silence for several moments, staring at the eviscerated corpse in front of the truck. From this distance, Darry cannot tell what sort of creature it might have been before, but he knows from the size of it that it could not — should not — have gone down easily.

He has every intention to stay in the truck and not risk it, but if they intend to make it to the cabin, the macabre roadblock must be moved. He puts the truck back in gear, easing forward. Pony starts almost hyperventilating beside him, grabbing one of his brother’s massive wrists.

"What the fuck are you doing?"

His words are spoken so softly that Darry barely hears him. As he brings the vehicle closer, fear grips him.

The creature is a black bear, easily 250 pounds. Darry didn’t know there was anything in Oklahoma big enough to take down a bear. He doesn’t think a wolf or coyote could manage the carnage he sees. He parks the truck on the road, trying to catch his breath.

This is impossible.

He honks the horn suddenly, hoping to scare off whatever might have defeated the bear, ignoring Pony’s shocked howl. “What the fuck are you doing?!” he repeats, much louder this time. Darry ignores him, slowly opening his door, intent on getting in and out as quickly as possible. He goes to tell Pony to lock the door after him, but that’s when it hits them.

The smell.

Darry once heard his father’s horror stories about the war, how the smell of death and blood and shit and pain just hung in the air. Darry imagines the metallic cacophony for the nose was a dead ringer for the way the woods smelled. Pony pull his sweatshirt over his nose, hot tears in his eyes.

"Darry, no—."

"Lock up after me."

And then he is out of the truck, nearly gagging as the offensive smell became stronger .He notices a deep pool of blood just in front of him, one he cannot avoid. Whatever got the creature must have had claws a foot long, for the deep gashes Darry could see across the bear’s back went all the way down its back and sides, and as he steps closer, boots nearly sinking into the dirty, leaf-tainted blood, he can see the bear was cut clear to its bones. Flies have already begun threading in and out of exposed muscles, buzzing in such a synchronized hum that it nearly drives Darry mad.

He puts on a brave face for his brother. He grabs the creature’s massive paws and, with little strain, starts dragging the torn beast off of the dirt road. Once he is out of sight from Pony, he allows his queasy stomach to finally relieve itself. His paltry breakfast covers the leafy debris under the tree where the creature now rests, and he raises a shaking hand to smooth his hair back.

As soon as he gets back to the truck, they are leaving. He knows that much, if nothing else. He storms back to the truck, like a man possessed, then comes to a halt, staring at the ground he walks upon. He starts back for the truck at an almost lackadaisical pace. When he slides back into the drivers seat, he closes the door and starts the truck again.

He starts forward again, driving through the bloody road.

"Darry—"

Pony’s voice is hoarse, tears running down his pale face. Darry stiffens, jaw set.

"Somebody’s already drove through here."

Darry will be damned if he lets one of his friends stay in this place. The drive is frightfully quiet, because what is there to say? The older Curtis has never been one to believe in evil, but he’s willing to bet that whatever tore that bear apart was as close to it as you could get on this earth.

"What if whoever came through here— They—"

"Pony, what could you even use to do that?"

He’s not sure what caused the massacre they had seen, but he is positive the attacker could not have been human. After he corrects his brother, they fall silent again. Darry keeps occasionally scanning the tree-lined roadside, looking for something horrible to shamble out and make quick work of them both, though much of the drive is uneventful. All Darry can really manage is to realize how the branches of trees reach up to the sky like hands. It looks like nothing so much as an illustration of hell bound souls reaching for mercy that will not come. The morbid imagery does not vanish, even as the truck pulls up to the worn cabin. It had once been so bright, a beacon of Darry’s happy childhood, but now looks somehow menacing.

He misses his father. These things would not happen if Dad was around.

"You know, now I’m kind of glad Dallas and Johnny couldn’t make it." Pony murmurs, still rigid in his seat. Darry is inclined to agree, but says nothing. He looks at Pony. Pony nods.

They jump out of the car and go running, not sure what they will find when they approach the cabin. When they reach the door, they stop. It is open.

That door was never left unlocked. Unsure of what to do, Darry stands staring into the darkness of the entryway, weighing his options. Something moves from the back of the room, and Pony screams as Two-Bit materializes from the shadows, joining the brothers in the late morning sun. The lanky ginger smiles at them, holding up a beer.

"Took ya’ll long enough to get back." he chuckles as Pony leans forward, gripping his knees. The words gave Darry pause, and he had to question them before anything else.

"What do you mean, get back?"

Two-Bit shrugged his shoulders. “The cabin was unlocked, man, I figured you and Pony came and got it all set up and headed back out for supplies. Not that we’ll need them.” He hold up his six pack and grins wryly at the pair.

"You two okay? You look a little shaken."

Darry steps forward, grabbing Two-Bit by the shoulders and starting backwards with him.

"We are leaving."

The younger greaser lets out a whine of discontent, but Darry glares long and hard at him.

"There is something very, very wrong here, Two-Bit, now get in your car and follow me back to town."

Ever contrary, the pudgy wiseass sticks his nose in the air.

"Ain’t Soda and Steve coming this way?"

"There’s only one road in and out of here, we’ll probably come across them on the way back. Just hurry up and go—"

Something moves through the underbrush, and Pony whimpers. On instinct, Darry steps between his companions and whatever is approaching, baring his teeth in a primal show of aggression.

When the intruder finally appears before them, Darry has to pause.

"You’re not supposed to be here."


	2. Something Wicked This Way Comes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gun Safety With Keith Mathews; Paranoia With Steve Randle; Quiet Breakdowns With Ponyboy Curtis.

"Talkin’ ‘bout hey now!"

"Hey now!"

"Iko iko an nay!"

Soda screams along with the radio, laughing as Steve proves able to recite everything almost perfectly.

"You sure like this song, don’t you, buddy?"

Steve goes rigid, gripping the wheel a little too tightly. His cheeks darken, and Soda grins at him. The guy would never admit he was so into music that wasn’t rock and roll.

"Nah, Soda, it’s just.. Hannah likes this song, I get it stuck in my head a lot."

Steve’s little sister seems to like all the things Steve won’t admit to.

Soda doesn’t press the issue, just shakes his head and looked out the window. The forest seems thicker this year, somehow. Then again, it had been a while since the Curtis brothers have been down these roads. The thought might have hurt him, at any other time, but he was with Steve, and things were ok.

He has no intention of breaking in front of the brother who didn’t share his blood.

Steve’s car goes gliding through the muck on the road, a debris-laden mess that would have been odd if either boy cared to pay attention. There was no reason for a puddle to be red, but they hadn’t noticed something so odd. Soda especially doesn’t, since Steve has begun speaking again.

"You know, you don’t have to stay here if you don’t want to."

Soda stiffens, still looking out the window. God, he wishes Steve would just drop it. It’s the same conversation they’ve been having since Darry announced the trip a good month and half ago. The mechanic beside him seemed to think it would be better for Soda if he had some alone time.

"I mean, since everything happened, you’ve barely had a minute to yourself. It might be better if we just turn around and go home, you get some time to think about things—"

"I’m fine."

He doesn’t mean to be rude, to snap at Steve, but he can’t stand the subject. His family needs him, Pony especially. This whole trip was about him, after all. To help him get away from everything in the city, things that reminded him of all the bad that had happened in the last year, all his friends were gathering at the old cabin to help him.

The rest of the ride is silent, cracks in the nigh-unbreakable friendship showing through. Soda keeps thinking he ought to apologize, but can’t find the words. He is past talking. He wants to be past thinking as well, but his mind simply refuses to rest. It kept playing his losses over and over again. It keeps coming back to one beautiful blonde that never should have left him.

He misses her.

When they pull up to the old cabin, the rest of their friends are waiting. Soda steadies himself, then puts on his best smile. He looks over at Steve, though the dark boy is giving him a disapproving look.

When he slides out of the car, still smiling, Pony runs up and hugs him. As he wraps his arms around his brother, Soda takes inventory. Two-Bit looks the same as ever, still smiling his Cheshire Cat grin. Pony’s as normal as he can be, given the circumstances, just wrapped around his brother for comfort. It’s Darry that catches Soda’s immediate attention, looking peaked.

"You okay, Dar?"

The oldest Curtis nods, biting on his lower lip.

"Just got sick on my way over."

"Yeah, freaking out does that to people."

Soda’s gaze drifts back to Two-Bit. The stout ginger is still grinning at his friends, delighted to play tattletale. “What do you mean, freak out?” Soda asks.

Two-Bit rubs at the back of his neck with his free hand. “Superman here saw something on the way over, got himself all worked up. Kept telling me we had to leave.” After taking a swig of beer, Two-Bit finishes his tale with a murmured “Pussy.”

Darry’s face sours.

"It’s the damnedest thing, I can’t even remember what it was." He shrugs his broad shoulders, trying to play off his nerves. "Probably nothing."

"Road kill."

Pony adds the words quietly, as his brother plays with his hair. Soda clicks his tongue. “Must have been awful.” he sighs, just trying to make Pony act a bit more like himself. The kid won’t play along with his attempts, still clinging to him like a child. As always, Soda must be the one to hold people together.

He tells himself he does not mind.

Steve finally reappears, carrying most of the supplies for the week and giving Soda the stink-eye for leaving him to grab everything. The blond simply wiggles his fingers at his harried friend, then steps back from Pony. He watches as Steve enters the cabin, leaving the other four greasers to talk things over.

"We better get in and start setting things up while we’ve still got light."

"You expecting an eclipse or something?"

Every hair on Soda’s body stands on edge. The voice is familiar, but wrong somehow. There were only supposed to be five people at the cabin, and now there’s a voice unaccounted for. One directly behind Soda. He wheels around ,ready for a fight, about ready to pee his pants.

Dallas seems to just apparate out of the shadows of the woods, the same bony mess that Soda has known for so long. He lets out a sigh of relief, knowing that some maniac wasn’t lurking on the conversation.

"Christ, don’t scare me like that."

Dallas grins his usual, shark-like smile, shrugging his shoulders.

"Ain’t my fault you don’t pay attention, man."

Soda shakes his head and walks over, punching Dallas in the arm good naturedly.

"You are freezing, how long have you been out here?"

"Long enough." The New Yorker answers. "Hey, let’s get inside, I’m freezing my nuts off. Darry’s got to get the electricity and shit running anyway."

Soda finds the idea absolutely wonderful, to get in out of the late autumn chill. He starts up the stairs to the porch with Dallas in tow, leaving the first three arrivals outside. As soon as they reach the door, Steve throws it open, going back for the second load of groceries. He gives Soda the same dull glare, then stops. His green eyes take in Dallas, and his expression falls.

"You’re not supposed to be here."

Dallas still wears his smile, but it seems strained somehow. Soda wants to intervene, but finds his tongue has become a dead weight. Something strange is humming through the air.

"I made time, man. turns out my plans weren’t too important. Besides, town ain’t half as fun without you assholes. I’d even miss your ugly mug, Steve."

Soda chuckles under his breath. Same old Dally, loyal and insulting all in the same breath. Steve doesn’t look half as amused, and it gives Soda pause. He looks all too much like Darry, before he gets good and mad.

"You. Are not. Supposed. To be here."

Steve repeats the words evenly, each syllable dropping off of his tongue with force.

"Come on, Steve, it’s alright, he said he made time. He don’t eat that much anyway." Dallas ribs Soda for the words, and he finds it strange that Dallas can still be smiling amidst the stifling atmosphere. Steve does not back down easily, and the brush of Dallas’ elbow on Soda pushes him over the edge.

"Don’t you fucking touch him!"

That gets everyone’s attention, and Soda can feel his skin crawling. Steve was being a little too dramatic for comfort, and he finally has to say something.

"Steve, it’s okay—"

"I think maybe we all need to go inside and calm down."

Darry intervenes, like always, and Soda is glad for it. His brother herds all the boys in, save for the dynamic duo.

"I said we all need to go in and—"

"Soda has to help me get the rest of the food."

The hell I do, he wants to say, but something in Steve’s eyes cuts him. There is no room for debate, especially not once Darry drops it and hurries inside.

What is wrong with you burns on the tip of his tongue, but Steve’s hand clamps down on his wrist, and they’re moving again. He notices how clammy Steve’s hand is, how quick his steps are.

"We’re leaving."

Soda scoffs.

"Steve, not this shit again—"

The taller boy wheels him around, locking eyes with him. There is no room for argument. Steve’s face is hard as stone, and Soda feels the first tendrils of fear gripping his spine.

"We have to leave."

Past arguing, Soda swallows hard, a cold sweat running down his pretty face. He hates the metallic taste in his mouth. He hates how his heart is racing.

He should not have to be afraid of Steve.

"What about Pony and Darry? What about Two-Bit and Dallas?"

He can see Steve going to say something, but then he stops short, eyes wide. Soda turns and finds himself staring down the barrel of a gun.

The scream he releases can be heard clear back to town, he is sure. Two-Bit starts cackling, lowering the weapon and howling like a madman.

"You trying to kill me?!" Soda shrieks, indignant. Two-Bit shakes his head, unable to speak. Steve’s face is so red that Soda expects it to just explode, and just before he can blow his lid, Two-Bit manages to get his bearings.

"It ain’t even loaded. Besides, my finger isn’t on the trigger."

Steve is not amused, and Soda could tell. He isn’t either, but he can see that Two-Bit is keeping his finger on the trigger guard. The idiot was playing safe in one way while completely disregarding all other gun safety rules. He wasn’t so much enraged as annoyed.

Dallas walked out at the commotion, staring out at the other greasers with one colorless eyebrow raised. “Bit, put the fucking thing down.” he growled, in a tone that made Soda think the blond had no room for monkey business. He kept eyeing the gun like it might just get up and hit him. Then again, with Two-Bit in charge of a weapon, who knows what could happen.

Steve finally grabs the last of the groceries, handing one sack to Soda. As they walked into the musty cabin, he notices how the tall boy avoids the elfish Dallas, how he stiffens as he walks past the near-albino. Once they are in the kitchen, alone, Steve begins talking again.

"Something’s wrong here, can’t you tell?"

Soda bites his lower lip, lost in thought. So far, the weirdest thing he had put up with was Steve’s brusque attitude. As long as he had known him, Steve had always been rather gruff, but all he was doing now was completely new. He had never been quite so forceful with others.

"You can’t."

He can see how Steve’s shoulders slump, realization sinking in.

"None of you can. Christ."

Rubbing at his forehead, the gangly boy starts pacing the tiny kitchen, breathing as evenly as he could. It was frightening, to see a stranger wearing the face of someone Soda loved so dearly. He reached out, taking hold of Steve gently.

"It’s going to be ok, Steve. I don’t know what you think’s going on, but—"

A creak on the floor ruins the moment, each boy jumping as Two-Bit entered the kitchen. He smiles lazily at them, lighting a cigarette as he watches them. “Hey lovebirds, if you’re done being queer, me and Dal were going to go hunting. Any takers, or are ya’ll just going to stay and break in a bed?”

If at all possible, Soda would derive great pleasure from shoving his middle fingers through Two-Bit’s eye sockets. As it was, he was unable to do any of those things, and just looks to Steve, silently questioning if he should leave him. In response, Steve stiffens, but nods.

"Sure. We’ll come."

"On each other?" Two-Bit teases, wagging his bushy eyebrows at the pair. The two swiftly start backing the redhead out of the kitchen, giving him the best glares they could manage. Once he was sufficiently cowed, Soda looks up at Steve and smiles.

It was that kind of synchronicity that had kept them so close for more than a decade.

Dallas stands at the door, smoking and looking out over the woods. He gripped the shotgun lazily, seemingly uncaring if it clattered to the floor or not. Soda can’t help smiling at how familiar the blond is, how his uncaring posture is so normal in such turbulent times.

"Why does Dallas have the gun?"

The other three groan at Steve’s words. Not this shit again was the general sentiment carried in their outbursts. The newfound Anti-Dallas stance was getting more annoying the longer Steve kept it up.

"I’m sorry, princess, you want to carry it?"

Steve holds out his hand in answer, and Soda could tell the brunet was in no way fucking around. Two-Bit intervenes, smooth as water, taking the gun from the two feuding parties.

"I’ll take it if you two will just shut up."

"What’s going on up there?"

Darry’s voice carries up from the cellar, causing the entire group to fall silent. The last thing they needed was their unofficial leader chewing them out for Steve’s nonsense.

"Going hunting." Two-Bit yelled back. It wasn’t a complete lie, seeing as he had only failed to mention Dallas and Steve looked ready to kill each other. Soda had to smile. With that guy at the helm, they’d get out of this with Darry none the wiser.

Then he was charging up the stairs, poking his head out and staring at the teenagers incredulously. When he sees just who is handling his father’s gun, he lets out an involuntary sputter of disbelief. If Soda wasn’t so scared of Darry beating all them bloody for handling the gun, he might laugh. It was one of those once in a lifetime looks of pure shock.

"The hell you are!"

"We big men. We hunt dinner. Return victorious."

Two-Bit thumps his chest with his free hand, every inch a Tarzan. Steve rolls his eyes and Dallas goes back to looking outside, leaving the fight purely between Darry and Two-Bit. Soda watches in mild amusement, wondering who would come out on top.

Of course, Two-Bit goes running out of the cabin, over Darry’s protests, and his peers soon followed him. There was no way for Darry to stop them unless he wanted to get out of the cellar, leave Pony down there alone, and physically stop them. Once they had gotten far enough away, deep into the woods, they all stopped, sucking in air like it was running out.

"Did you see his face?" Soda chuckles, and his laugh is echoed by Dallas and Two-Bit. Steve was too busy trying not to fall over, too winded to even manage a snort.

"Thought he was going to have a cow. Christ, Two-Bit, you’re at the top of his shit list now."

"I wear this badge with pride, Dallas."

Soda ignores the banter of his friends, gaze drifting to Steve. “Something up, man?” he calls out. Steve points down the woods a piece. Soda smiles.

"Found the lake. Come on, guys, we can get some duck for dinner."

When Soda looks back at the blond and the ginger, Two-Bit is smiling his Cheshire Cat grin. “Bet I can shoot one from further back than any of you.”

Soda’s eyes light up. He cannot resist a challenge. “You’re on.”

"Five bucks?"

"Deal."

The walk to the lake is silent, even somber, save for Two-Bit whistling Dixie into the wind. Dallas and Steve walk beside each other, and Soda cannot decide if this is because Dallas wants to irritate the taller boy, or if Steve is trying to keep tabs on the blond. Once they come close enough to see the water stretching out beyond their field of vision, Two-Bit comes to a halt, holding out the shotgun.

"You ladies step aside. I’m going to show you how a real man hunts."

Dallas scoffs, and Soda glares, but Steve says nothing, his frightful green eyes focusing totally on Dallas. “Kiss him, already.” Soda murmurs, all in good humor. Steve does not comply, nor does he respond. The trio step out of the way, allowing Two-Bit perfect access to the geese resting on the surface of the water.

He raises the gun in one fluid motion, and Soda muses that it looks like the boy was born to handle it. He checks the safety, steadying himself. Soda smiles, knowing that Two-Bit is going ot miss, but he will look tuff doing so. As the wind kicks up, it ruffles his orange coif.

The wind kicks up again. The gun swerves. The gun fires.

Soda is vaguely aware of a bullet passing across his field of vision, can feel his heart sinking into the pit of his stomach. Steve is screaming and then he realizes that he is too. Dallas has surely been hit, standing now in the light that filters through the trees.

The tow-headed hood is breathless, icy eyes wide with fear. He does not bleed. Soda sees the bullet embedded in a tree just beside his companion, where Dallas had just been standing. If he had not lept backwards, he would be dead. As it was, the hood was uncharacteristically shaken, hands quivering as he curled them into fists.

He is also the first to react.

"What the fuck?!"

His voice is shrill, and Two-Bit’s eyes are filling with tears.

"I didn’t—"

"You could have killed me, you pot-bellied son of a bitch!"

Dallas keeps roaring at Two-Bit, letting out every curse he knows. Soda realizes, as if in afterthought, that at some point his raspy voice slips into a foreign tongue that is like sandpaper to the ears.

"My finger wasn’t even on the trigger, guys, you’ve got to believe me!"

Two-Bit’s grey eyes look over his friends. Steve grabs Soda’s arm, roughly, and starts dragging him along. Soda does nor protest, is unsure he even knows exactly what is going on, until he digs in his heels.

"Steve, enough—"

Steve grabs him by the shoulders, and Soda decides then and there his eyes are full of crazy, as his father would say.

"His finger was not on that trigger. I keep telling you, something is wrong. Let’s just go."

"Steve—"

"Please." He is begging now. Soda has never known him to do that, not once in all their time together. It unsettles him. He snatches his arm back, hardening his resolve.

"Steve. That was an accident. There is nothing going on here, ok? Just stop being stupid."

Steve must have heard enough, as he turns on his heels. Soda can just read the disgust in his posture, and he almost berates himself for it. Then he remembers.

This isn’t for Steve, or his hissy fits, or his macho bullshit with Dallas. This is about Pony. And so, like always, Soda stands by family. Who were rapidly approaching just as Steve was walking past them.

Darry reaches the scene first, Pony in hot pursuit.

"What happened?!"

Dallas and Two-Bit each fight to get their version of events in. ‘He was trying to shoot me!’ overlaps with ‘The gun misfired and Dallas almost got shot!’ Eventually, Darry has enough of it, and looks to his brother for the full story.

"The gun just fired. I don’t know. The wind kicked up, it probably threw him off balance. He didn’t mean to."

He half expects the words to throw Darry into a fit. Instead, it is Pony that reacts.

The boy practically falls in on himself, slumping to the floor and rocking back and forth on his heels. His brother’s response is immediate, as Darry and Soda rushes to comfort him. Darry is there first, but like always, Soda finds he is the one that has to do most of the work.

"Pony, what’s wrong?"

He doesn’t answer, and Soda’s blood starts running cold. Two-Bit approaches awkwardly, standing at a distance. Dallas looks over, murmurs something about going to find Steve, and vanishes into the woods.

Pony finally looks up, instead at Darry.

"Can we go back now?"

His voice is hoarse, and he sounds sick. He sounds fragile, like he’s gone back to being a little kid. All Soda can do is hold him, assuring him that yes, they will head back.. but only when his little brother stops shaking so, when the tears stop.

It takes ten minutes for Pony to compose himself, entirely too long in Soda’s book. Still ,the quartet band together and start the long walk back to the cabin, making it back just before sundown.

Dallas is waiting for them on the porch, a mountain lion intruding on the world of men. He stretches out from his perch on the porch swing, flicking his cigarette aside.

"The kid okay?"

Pony looks up, offering the hood a shaky smile. “I’m fine.” He answers in that same hoarse voice, and it makes his older brother wince. Dallas nods in acknowledgement, then sighs.

"Dumbass ain’t coming back. I told him to at least swing by for his car, but he said he was walking."

It’s wrong. Soda knows it is, that Steve ought to have come back by for his Baby. Still, Steve had been doing a lot of things he wouldn’t have done in a better state of mind. Why wouldn’t he leave the car he so adored in his haste to get out of the woods? It’s not like he was thinking straight.

"So, is it too soon to start calling him bear bait?"

"Dallas."

Darry chides the boy like a father, and it makes Dallas smile a lazy sort of grin.

"So, who’s cooking?"

Two-Bit does, perhaps trying to apologize for earlier events. Dinner, Soda finds, is an odd and somber affair, made only worse by the burnt steaks and undercooked potatoes. He remembers that when his father was alive — and God, he hasn’t been gone very long at all — that the four of them would just goof around and eat and tell all sorts of wild stories to pass time. Now, the whole ordeal is drawn out, and the only one who seems to be in high spirits was Dallas. The creep had always been comfortable in weird places.

Once the table is cleared, Darry deems it bed time. Nobody argues this point, not even the ever contrary New Yorker in their midst.

"Might be nice, to sleep for once." He winks at Soda as he speaks, before disappearing into the dark bedroom he was to share with Two-Bit. Soda watches Pony vanish into the furthest bedroom, then waits for Darry. His older brother does not show up, until he steps back into the living room and sees Darry laying a blanket on the couch.

"That can’t be good for your back."

Darry lets out a sound that is half of a scoff and part of a laugh.

"I’ll be fine. Besides, if Steve comes back, I bet he’ll be cold and pissed. Better to let him in sooner, you know?"

Soda does know, but that doesn’t mean Darry should be sprawled out on the ratty couch all night. He goes to offer his own room up to Darry.

"Don’t argue with me, Soda. Just go to bed. We’re going exploring tomorrow, remember?"

He can do nothing but nod, sighing as he obeys his brother. He enters the dark, dank room that he stayed in as a child, usually having to share with Pony. Now, it is his alone, and he looks out into the woods outside his window.

It never occurs to him that things are too quiet, until he sees something moving in the trees. It is far too fast to be his friend. He draws the curtains, frightened by even the idea of some great animal stalking the woods, and prays that Steve has made it back to town.

He walks back out, down the hall and into the living room.

"Soda, I told you—"

"Something’s out there."

Darry pauses.

"Is it Steve?"

"No."

It is comforting to know his brother takes the shotgun off the wall.

"I’ll stay up for a bit. You get some sleep. I’m sure it’s nothing."

If it was nothing, Darry wouldn’t have the gun. He is totally silent as he backs into his room, afraid to turn and face the window. Madly, he fears he will turn and the curtains will be wide open, showing him something awful. All the urban legends about the woods that he’s heard around school come back with vivid clarity. He promises himself that, if he survives the night, he will return to school at the end of break and beat the ginger punk who started those rumors until he starts crying for the mama he didn’t have.

Soda crawls into bed, not minding the dust on the sheets, or the fact that he is still dressed. He just wants to sleep, and he wants to wake up in the morning alive. He wonders if it’s even possible to wake up as a ghost.

He sleeps.

He dreams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I actually finished a whole new chapter wow.

**Author's Note:**

> And so I embark on my very first series. I have no idea what prompted this, other than the idea of the gang in a sort of Evil Dead scenario. This story will have less kandarian demons, though.  
> The closest thing you can even get to a demon in The Outsiders is Dallas.


End file.
